


Don't Be Hasty

by Rollinginthesheep



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rollinginthesheep/pseuds/Rollinginthesheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But again, she pulled herself together, wiped away the evidence<br/>and stepped back to observe the damage she’d caused me yet another time.</p><p>The sound of the door shutting, the protests of the metal hinges was all I heard as she walked away,<br/>yet another time, taking yet another piece of my sanity with her.</p><p>
  <i>It was fucked up.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>A NIALL/GEMMA ONE SHOT</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Be Hasty

Her eyes burnt holes in those who she deemed worthy of her stare. It was as though she held the ability to find any insecurity lingering at the depths of your soul and identify it within a moment of her hazel tinted brown eyes meeting yours.

It was no wonder I knew I was utterly screwed the moment her gaze first shifted my way.

I remember the day we met as though it was merely yesterday and not three years ago. I was sixteen, wide eyed and had an odd infinity toward listening to Justin Bieber’s music. I was naïve, seeing the world through the eyes of a child who thought himself a man.

It was shortly after One Direction had been formed and we’d gotten through to yet another round of the X-factor competition. We decided to go out for dinner, some of our family members being in attendance. Things were as candid in crazy as usual until _she_ walked in.

He eyes glittered knowingly, her brunette waves framing her angular face as though she’d just stepped off a runway instead of battling the elements of the English winter. She stood beside Harry’s mother, whom I’d briefly met the week before, a bored expression on her features and hands folded under each other as she tried to brush off the cool evening air from her frame.

Harry’s eyes widened and he tore himself from his conversation with Louis and his girlfriend to go approach his mother. They embraced for a moment before he pulled the mysterious girl toward him in an affectionate hug. She smiled warmly for the first time since she’d entered. She murmured something and both Harry and his mother laughed heartily as Harry mused her hair. I could vaguely hear Liam calling my name, but I couldn’t draw my attention away from this mysterious and alluring girl.

Moments later I’d learnt her identity. _Gemma Styles_ , Harry’s infamously sassy older sister. She easily maintained conversation with Louis and Hannah, as though she’d been there the whole time. However I couldn’t miss the occasional glance she sent my way, even the daring wink she’d sent shortly after we received our meals when she’d caught me staring yet again. I could feel my throat turn heavy at the mere memory.

Gemma Styles confused me and came with a mixture of complicated emotions. She appeared the usual independent, headstrong woman who had a soft spot for her family, but there was more to that. See I’d come to learn Gemma had so many secrets of her own that I couldn’t help but wonder how she and the ever honest Harry were related, despite their similar facial features.

She was utterly conflicted in every action she did no matter how bemused the smile on her face appeared at the time. She’d pull me one step toward her before pushing me two steps back. It was a constant tug of war that left me weary but longing for her.

It was utterly screwed up.

One day I was too young and the next I was all she needed.

Her hands were always cold and soft when they touched my skin.

She always smelt of lilacs and chocolate, a faint scent that remained ever stained into my sheets and I couldn’t will myself to wash it out even when she said it was the last time and we weren’t going to do it again.

Because we always did.

There was always another time. There was always another drunken phone call, a cry for help when she’d been screwed over by one of the other guys that were considered more adequate in the age department.

It always came down to my age.

I was too young.

_Too immature._

It all boiled down to that. No matter how many times I told her that it didn’t matter, _that I loved her,_ it was never enough.

I was foolish and ever the constantly naïve sixteen year old in her eyes, no matter how much she didn’t seem to mind this fact when I held her close to my body in the dark.

It never seemed to matter when yet another man took off running and she needed someone to tell her he loved her no matter how much of a bitch she was.

Because honestly? She was a bitch.

And I couldn’t even hate her for it.

I loved her for it.

 _It was fucked up._ And I couldn’t even love another because of it.

No, I was forced to watch her trapeze to another sleazebag who would undoubtedly cause her heart to break a little more and for her eyes to become just a little bit colder. And there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.

I’d bring other women home to my bed, and pretend their long waves were _hers_ and that their hazel eyes were _hers. But no._ None of them were her.

_She’s fucked me up._

“Where are you going?” I asked sleepily as the woman herself slid out of my grip, pulling the sheets off her unclothed form. I sat up, not tearing my gaze from her naked body as she stumbled across the room trying to find her clothes that had been strewn across the room in a fit of drunken passion the night before.

“Home.” She replied shortly, not even sparing a glance in my direction as she slid on her underwear.

I knew the script. We rewound it every time and fumbled our way through it again like a horribly broken record. It was an infinite loop that I couldn’t break us out of no matter how hard I tried.

“Just come back to bed.” I sighed wearily, rubbing my eyes. Gemma finally glanced back at me, now half-dressed and nursing her shirt in her hand. I couldn’t help but appreciate the sight of her bra clad chest, despite my current frustration. She had a very distracting body at the best of times.

It was her turn to sigh, as she regarded me tiredly. “You know why I can’t.” She murmurs softly, as though she was defeated by this conversation already. I shook away that concept. That meant she actually gave a fuck about me in the first place.

“No I honestly don’t Gem. I’m twenty years old, not sixteen and I know you don’t give fuck if Harry approves or not.” I replied shortly. Her brows furrowed and anger clouded her worn features.

“Seriously? You think those are the only things stopping me?” She huffed, running a rough hand through her mused hair. “You’re so _bloody naïve.”_

I feel my blood boil at this well aimed insult. I shoot out of the bed, striding toward her. I can see hesitance cross her gaze, obviously shocked at my sudden movements. I was usually one to laze about to the midday and usually I let her leave.

Not today.

I was sick of the go around, I wanted this to go somewhere, or end for good, no matter how it hurt.

“Fuck off Gemma, you know that’s shit!” I snarled in response and she glared back at me with equal fury, her hazel eyes darker than I’d ever seen them.

“Okay, enlighten me. What isn’t ‘shit’?” She asks, air quoting the crude term I’d used for her excuse.

“You’re scared. You build up these walls, create these unrealistic expectations and you well know that barely anyone can meet them! You think that if you create this shell for yourself, you won’t give anyone the chance to hurt you!"

She glanced at me, her eyes widened at my response. It was obvious she hadn’t been expecting this insight to her persona. Her mouth widened for a moment, stumped on how to respond. If I’d been in a calmer state of mind I probably would have laughed and teased her about rendering her speechless. However at the moment I needed her to admit her faults, so we could move past this roadblock.

“And you keep coming back to me because part of you knows we’d be perfect together, but you’re so afraid you’ll get hurt that you use my age, my supposed naivety to push me away time and time again!” I pressed on; knowing I only had this chance to get her to see the light. I could feel my hands shake, my throat close, but I needed to continue. I needed to make her see reason. I couldn’t keep living with this mess of a relationship we had, if I could even be considered that.

“Niall…” Gemma murmured her voice low. I interjected her, not willing to let her change the course of this conversation.

“No! Don’t Niall me! Don’t act like I’m a child throwing a tantrum! You know this is wrong, you know that you’re slowly fucking me over in the head! Do you even give a shit about that? Or is really just the Gemma show in there?!” I fumed. As soon as the words spilt from my mouth however, I realized the grave mistake I’d made. Calling Gemma selfish is literally the kiss of death.

I expected to be slapped. I expected anger. I expected a furious but well-crafted response for my nerve.

But what I got instead? Was something I’d never thought I’d see.

A tear rolling down that soft pale cheek. A tear that for once wasn’t caused by yet another douchebag who broke her heart and led her drunkenly into my heart, _but one caused by me._

I’d never felt my heart break so quickly.

“I know.” She spoke, her voice small, breaking the utterly painful silence that had settled between us.

“Gemma-“ She held up a hand, effectively silencing me.

“I know.” She repeated. I she glanced downward at her bare feet. “I know I’m fucked up. I know you and I could work. But I know we couldn’t also. There’s just too many things that could go wrong. So many things that you wouldn’t like about me. So many people who could tear us down. I just…I just can’t take that chance.” She admitted.

I found myself reaching for her, resting a hand upon her cheek. She moved toward my touch and I shifted my grasp until my arms were wrapped around her. She pressed her face into my chest, and I could hear her gasp for breath as tears started to fall more freely, wetting my skin.

“I just can’t.” She sobs, her words muffled by the pressure of my chest. I had no idea how to respond, feeling stuck between a rock and an equally difficult place. I wanted to comfort her and say it’s alright, she didn’t need to. But every part of me wanted her to give us a chance. And I selfishly couldn’t comfort her with any words because of it.

We stood in mostly vocal silence, with the exception of the occasional sob or sniffle that escaped Gemma, who still hadn’t let go of me. I wasn’t about to let her go either, not when she was willingly in my arms to begin with.

“I’m sorry.” She murmured, pulling back and breaking the connection after another few moments passed.

“Gemma-“ I was cut off once again.

“I can’t.” She replies simply, sliding her shirt over her head and wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She repeated, as though these two words could patch up the flurry of emotions that had arisen in me. I was angry, hurt and felt somewhat deceived. I thought this show of emotion meant something to her. But again, she pulled herself together, wiped away the evidence like a stupid mistake and stepped back to observe the damage she’d caused me yet another time.

The sound of the door shutting, the protests of the metal hinges was all I heard as she walked away, yet another time, taking yet another piece of my sanity with her.

_It was fucked up._

**Author's Note:**

> **I randomly wrote this as I ship them so badly and there's so little fics about them. It was inspired somewhat by the song ‘jenny don’t be hasty’ by paul nutini**


End file.
